Another shade of the same sentiment, in reference to Mr. Dimmesdale, was expressed by a person whose eccentricities⁠—or insanity, as we should term it⁠—led her to do what few of the townspeople would have ventured on; to begin a conversation with the wearer of the scarlet letter, in public. It was Mistress Hibbins, who, arrayed in great magnificence, with a triple ruff, a broidered stomacher, a gown of rich velvet, and a gold-headed cane, had come forth to see the procession. As this ancient lady had the renown (which subsequently cost her no less a price than her life) of being a principal actor in all the works of necromancy that were continually going forward, the crowd gave way before her, and seemed to fear the touch of her garment, as if it carried the plague among its gorgeous folds. Seen in conjunction with Hester Prynne⁠—kindly as so many now felt towards the latter⁠—the dread inspired by Mistress Hibbins was doubled, and caused a general movement from that part of the marketplace in which the two women stood.